Driving Me Crazy
by ManicMelancholyMonkey
Summary: Vanellope tries to convince Turbo that exercise will do him some good, and Turbo gets back at her by just being himself.


Just to forewarn you, the first three paragraphs kind of suck.

Vanellope convinces Turbo that exercise will do him good.

He had hated the idea of going into town, and hadn't hated it any less when Vanellope came waltzing into his apartment in the middle of the afternoon to invite him on an outing. Over the years it had become apparent that Turbo did not like being around other people, at least not when they weren't praising him for his skills and blinded by the light of his glory. It simply wasn't the same to be acknowledged like an average, ordinary guy from the streets as it was to be recognized for his abilities in large crowd of fans.

As it was, Turbo hadn't been into town for more than a few hours in the past few years, and that was only with the singular mind of getting necessary things like groceries, beverages, or parts for his car. And he'd initially refused to go out with Vanellope under any circumstances. He didn't want to see those cheery people in that cheery, sunshine-filled hellhole.

Nevertheless, the more she chattered on about the benefits of going out, the more Turbo could feel his resolve beginning to break. It was a big deal, for his stubbornness was more concrete than concrete. Yet the way she spoke made it seem like she hadn't had a bright idea in her entire life before then, and with that thought in mind Turbo had given in, intending to drive a few blocks and come right back to his apartment.

"Alright," Turbo had consented. "Let me go get my keys."

"No, no. Let's walk instead."

Turbo blinked. "What?"

"Let's walk." Vanellope persisted with a brilliant smile.

The man gaped, opening and closing his mouth for several minutes in total silence as Vanellope moved to assemble what she'd brought with her on the trip over. "What?!"

"Sometimes you gotta stretch your legs for a little bit!" Vanellope informed the man while pushing him in the direction of the door. "Get out and walk in the sun. You need it anyway; you're lookin' kinda gray, butt for brains."

"Wha—shut up, I do not!" Turbo cried out in indignation. He applied pressure to the soles of his feet, hoping to drag enough that Vanellope would give up altogether. His actions proved to be fruitless as, by the time they'd gotten to the door his knees had buckled and she'd managed to get him outside.

"Why do we have to walk? You walk over to my place all the time, you should be sick of walking."

Turbo knew he was whining. He'd been whining throughout their entire trek from his apartment into town. He'd shown no mercy, using every possible excuse he would to bring up driving, cars, or a mode of travel that was far superior to the absolutely _tedious _deed of walking. After the twenty-minute mark, the has-been could tell that Vanellope was becoming haggard by his inability to stop sulking. She'd wilted before his eyes by the time they were walking among streets packed with people and realizing this, Turbo felt a tiny bit guilty. It was an unusual feeling to say the very least.

"Walking isn't gonna kill you." Vanellope sighed for the twelfth time whilst she un-wrapped a hard, toffee candy that she had found from inside her one of her bags, "If anything it'll get rid of that gut you've got going on."

She patted Turbo's stomach and sniggered, despite her worn-down nerve, as he viciously swatted her hand away.

"Yeah? Well… Eating a crap ton of candy will do you no favors either." He attempted.

"Psh, are you saying you bought all this candy for me just to use it as an insult?" She gave him a pointed look as she sucked at her candy and he flinched at the noise it made.

Turbo did not have the love for sweets that his girlfriend carried. He'd tried engorging himself on them at one point early in his career of professional racing, having been told by trusted sources that the junk would provide him with extra energy during his downtime. His numerous attempts to exploit the powers of sugar had failed to the point where he'd given up on the stuff for good, and not with a fond memory of it either.

Still, amidst the memories of tooth and bellyaches as well as cavities in perfectly health teeth, Turbo had watched Vanellope press her face to the glass window of a bakery that the two had passed on their walk. Her too-big eyes had lit up when she looked from one sweet on display to the next just like a little kid, and he'd chuckled low in his throat. The sight was pathetic and so emphatically "Vanellope" that, if only to be the smug ass that he was often labeled, Turbo had decided to brave the unpleasantness and go inside the overly-saccharine bakery to buy whatever he could afford. It certainly hadn't hurt that her extreme gratitude fed into his pride.

Of course, he regretted his decision afterward.

"You're really missing out Turbutt!" Vanellope dove into one of the three bags she held her hands and fished for another candy, having already crushed and swallowed the last.

"Sucks to be me, I guess." He rolled his eyes.

"Also, don't call me that."

"Call you what?" Vanellope badgered.

"You know what," Turbo rolled his eyes.

"No, I really don't know." The enthusiast smirked, "won't you enlighten me?"

She batted her eyelashes at him, if only to get a reaction; which she did, just as always.

At that moment, she pulled out a handful of star-shaped candies and stuffed every one into her mouth without hesitation. Turbo had taken notice of just how easily she'd guzzle down whatever she could find from her various bags, and how very unladylike she was as she did so. Mentally, the older man added this to the list of Vanellope von Schweetz's more annoying, and disgusting, habits. He sneered and was practically blinded as he turned his eyes toward the sun.

"Gag me."

Almost immediately, Turbo received a punch to the shoulder and he stumbled. Whirling around he saw Vanellope stare warningly at him before returning to his treats and complied to his still-on-thin-ice status by folding his arms across his chest. He pouted much like a child would, and stuck his tongue out at any passerby who stared at him for more than two seconds.

"We could be driving right now." Turbo lamented for the ten-thousandth time. He continued to assess the area around him, still grimacing and glaring at the people that were minding their own business.

"Yeah, we could be," Vanellope said evenly through a mouthful of chocolate, "But if we were, it wouldn't be pretty."

"I don't mean right now." Her partner retorted, half-angry, half-incredulous.

"You'd be driving," She slid the bags of candy from her hands to her wrists and mimicked driving with both hands, "and complaining about all the blood and guts on your windshield, and I'd have to tell you not to whine so much…"

"Hey!"

She continued, "Ya know what, a ton of piled up bodies would make for a heck of a speed bump. Ooh! You could make a ramp out of all of them and do your own stunts!"

"Okay, stop it!" Turbo jolted away from the woman at his side and gave her a wide-eyed stare. "Barf me out Vanellope; thatht not funny!"

She turned to regard him, looking almost the same as she had when she'd been staring at the display of bakery sweets. Taking his total state of disgust and bewilderment into account, the woman leaned over and planted a kiss on the corner of his lips. She decided to forgive him for his attitude, for now. "You're way too easy, drama king."

The has-been racer stood in place, frozen with arms folded and speechless. In vain he tried to figure out a proper insult for his spark of a girlfriend but could not think of a single thing to say. He soon realized that Vanellope had gone a great deal ahead of him, laughing as she did so.

Turbo ran to catch up to her before a sudden switch in gears had him hurtling ahead of her. He grinned at her loud, indignant response and felt the wind at his heels as Vanellope hurried to match his pace.

I did not do an appropriate use of 80's slang.


End file.
